RUOK??

It's RUOK day and this day always stirs up stuff within me and when I get stirred up I need to blog.

So I'm going to bare my soul here..... *big sigh*

I have not been OK. I am OK today, and I wasn't too bad yesterday. Tomorrow I might not be. But in the past, I have not been OK.

I've been quite open with my struggles with Post Natal Depression after the premature birth of my son. It took me a while to admit that I was depressed and not coping because I like to minimize shit so that I feel better about it. I do this, because dealing with big issues is, and has never been my forte and I like to make jokes instead of facing things that make me feel uncomfortable. Basically, I push the feels down into a tiny little box deep inside me, that is probably a tumour getting bigger and bigger as we speak.

I feel like I should be able to do things all by myself and I hate relying on other people. This is probably most of the reason why I've struggled with depression my whole life and a lot of people never knew until I ended up in Emergency after overdosing on sleeping pills, or was drinking myself stupid and calling Lifeline at 2am in the morning.

Just before I get too carried away and my family & friends reading this get the men in white coats on the line - I don't currently have post natal depression. I've been very proactive with my mental health this time around and see a therapist as well as a parenting coach regularly. I practice mindfulness daily which seems to be the only therapy that has had an effect on me, ever. I've all round been a little bit kinder on myself this time, and as the saying goes, forewarned is forearmed. But it's not been easy.

Anyway, having had another little baby, everyone close to me was terrified that I was going to slip into that dark room with the black dog again. No one was more terrified than me. Believe me. Being depressed as a teenager or a 20 something with no real responsibilities, is nothing compared to being depressed and responsible for a life that you are terrified you have passed a mental illness onto. The thoughts you have with post-natal depression are not something that I want to experience ever again. I've blocked a lot of memories out that my therapist says I should probably try and unlock at some stage, so hopefully that gives you an idea of how terrible PND is. My brain literally shut down because it was too awful to deal with. But that's another story.

For anyone that's had depression, you know it's not something anyone would want to have. No one enjoys being depressed. I'll try and describe it for you. It's hard to understand if you've never been visited by the dark companion, so bear with me.

Being depressed, is like being stuck in a well. You can hear people enjoying the world above you, but you have no idea how to get out of the well and join them. Actually, you're not even sure how you got stuck in the well in the first place. You try and convince yourself that you're not really stuck in the well; maybe you're just taking a break from trying to be like all those happy people when you know you're really not like them at all.

You try every now and then to get out of the well but it's exhausting to be constantly battling to get out of there. The walls are slippery and you're a little bit embarrassed that you fell in the well in the first place so you don't want to ask for help. But somehow, every time you think you're getting closer to the top of the well, a bit more water pours into it. Sometimes it's just a glass and you don't really notice it falling into the well; other times it's a bathtub and it chokes you as it pours over your head. This happens over and over again and before you realise it, you're struggling to keep your head out of the water. But you're so tired from battling constantly to get out of the well, that you think that maybe drowning is the best option. No one would really miss you anyway, because you've been down in the well so long that they've probably forgotten about you anyway.

And this is where there are two outcomes....

Some people, continue fighting to get out of the well. If they're lucky, someone might throw a rope ladder down so they can climb out. It's hard climbing and takes them a while, but they get there. Unfortunately, there are wells wherever they go in their life. So sometimes they fall into another well, but they are fortunate enough to have someone who can throw another ladder down. Sometimes the wells aren't as deep as the first one and they can just pull themselves out; sometimes they are deeper and require a bit more effort. But they always climb out of that well and never drown.

Other people, unfortunately, they're exhausted, they're so tired, the water is so deep, they've fallen into so many wells. They just can't fight anymore, and they drown. They don't have someone that notices them down there in the well, so noone stops to throw down a ladder. People just keep walking past and never know there's a person seconds away from giving in to the barrage of water that keeps filling that person's well up. In 2014, there was around 8 people a day who drowned in the well. And that number keeps getting bigger and bigger. 

I was extremely fortunate to be one of the ones who climbed out the well. I have been up to my nose and my arms are cramped from treading water, but I haven't drowned. Sometimes I've needed antidepressants that acted like a little box for me to stand on, because even though someone had thrown me a rope I still couldn't reach it to pull myself out. Some days I feel like I'm running around in the sunshine and there are no wells to be seen. Some days I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a well that has come out of nowhere. And some days I'm embarrassed that I've fallen into another well and I don't know how to get out. The shame of not being able to stop myself from falling is probably what stopped me seeking help last time. 

Because society tells us, that we shouldn't be falling into wells. If you fall into a well, it's probably your own fault, it's not like someone pushed you. People say things like - 

'Can't you just get out of the well already?'

'I slipped in a puddle once so I totally know what you're going through.'

'I'm so sick of pulling you out of wells, I think you like getting wet'

'You're making everyone around the well feel bad so we're going to go to a different park and you can meet us there when you're ready.'

'You have no reason to be in a well in the first place. You had such a nice life up here in the sun.'

And even though we are moving towards getting rid of the stigma, there are still people trapped in wells, trying to pretend that they're okay, when the reality is, that most people can't get out of the well without a little help.

And that's why RUOK day is so important.

Depression isn't anyone's fault. It's not the fault of the people walking by the well; they are entitled to enjoy the sunshine and beautiful weather. It's not the fault of the person in the well; they can't help that they fell in. I'm so lucky to have people that will hold onto me when I'm teetering on the edge of falling into that well, and not leave me there so they can continue running around in the sunshine without me.

Asking someone 'R U OK?' can literally save a life. You popping your head over someone's well could mean the difference between them asking for a rope ladder, or them being unable to tread water anymore. Every time I've been so close to letting myself drown, I can honestly say that another person has been the only reason I have kept swimming. A friend, a family member, once a girl who I worked with who I never thought even noticed me. I can't thank them enough for stopping by my little dark well, when they could have kept enjoying the sunshine.

It's an uncomfortable conversation. I'm uncomfortable writing this. There's still a part of me that wonders how many people reading this will blame me for constantly falling into wells. Or wonder if I fall into wells intentionally. But if I can help one person today to yell from the water, or throw a rope ladder down someone's well, then my discomfort doesn't even compare.

So friends, I'm OK. But RUOK?

https://www.ruok.org.au/

https://www.lifeline.org.au/

http://www.blackdoginstitute.org.au/

https://www.thehappinesstrap.com/mindfulness

Cheers,

Qld Nurse.

Parenting - the ultimate 'no returns' policy.

I just re-read my last post. Fuck I'm a cocky idiot aren't I? I take it all back. ALL OF IT!

My bub is now 3 months old, and the sleep deprivation well & truly won the other day. I was sick, crying and ready to put both children on the floor of the living room while I ate my way through a double pack of oreos & large chicken crisps. I wanted to return my child to place of purchase and exchange it for one that works. This one is broken and does not sleep the way it said it would on the box.

I'm breastfeeding this little cherub, something that I wish I'd be able to do with my 1st born, but was unable to. I always felt I was missing out on something by not breastfeeding him and I have realised that I was in fact missing out on something.

FUCKING SLEEP.

The benefit to bottle feeding is that when you've had enough and think, you know what, I'd actually like to take a shit by myself for once or maybe get a solid block of sleep, you can handball that screaming little pink thing to a friend/Grandma/neighbour/random stranger who looks trustworthy, give them instructions on how much the bottle should be, and fuck off for an hour or two, without having to worry that your child's screams of hunger will be mistaken for an army of banshees raining the 7th level of hell down upon the world.

The other benefit is you know how much they've had exactly. No juggling the jubblies around thinking 'yeah it feels lighter, but he still looks hungry, is he hungry? Does he just want to suck for comfort? It's only been an hour, surely he can't be hungry again? Do I have milk? Is he hungry? He must be hungry?'

It's cruel really, to not only be responsible for a small human's life, but to have to do it sleep deprived, whilst they are literally sucking the life out of you. Making decisions while having the mental capacity of your drunk Uncle on Xmas day is not cool. So not cool man.

So the other night, as I looked at my husband sleeping soundly, over the hair of my wonderful little womb nugget that had been up every hour since 10pm, I thought...... fuck this.

Fuck. This.

So I woke that snoring fucker up and told him that I'd had enough and I handed him a screaming baby and I marched into the kitchen and I made a bottle of formula. And you know what happened? My gorgeous blue eyed cherub, wouldn't..... take.... the.... fucking.... bottle.

Anyway, long story short it turns out you can't survive on extended periods of 45 minute blocks of sleep AND look after a toddler AND not have a diet consisting of pure caffeine AND be like, completely sane or something. So the next day, I did what I'm sure every mum does or wishes they could do - I called my mum. She came over, let me lie down for a bit and then my husband and I came up with a plan of attack to get our little baby sleeping longer periods that didn't involve me leaving him in a cot to scream his heart out whilst ripping mine out. On a side note - how stupid are babies? They need to be taught how to sleep. Fuck me, if someone told me I got to sleep for over half the day, shit myself and have someone else clean it up whilst drinking from a bottle, I'd be all over that like Oprah on a baked ham. 

But anyway, after almost a week of 'sleep training' he's up to 2 hours of sleep at a time now, but we've got him sleeping longer than 10 minute periods during the day too. The thing that sucks, is we did this all with the 1st one and I was so naive I thought we'd have this shit down pat. We do not. I keep thinking that I've got this mother hood thing down and they keep changing the rules. Kids are like the ultimate way to test control issues. I fail the test. Like, a lot. No seriously, A LOT.

But I'll be damned, if the little bugger looks up at me, with a big gummy grin, and I think to myself - I would do this every night for the rest of my life if it means he will grow up happy and healthy.

Ok, not every night. But like at least maybe 5 or 6 nights a week. 

Cheers,

(A very sleep deprived) Qld Nurse.

2 under 2 - I'm invincible now just so you know.

As of a couple of months ago I became a mother again to another gorgeous little boy making me a mum of 2 boys under 2. Now, this time, things went a little more smoothly and he was born at almost term. We both weren't close to death, we didn't spend weeks in hospital, and he has a lot less health complications than our first son. I'd like to say he's an easier baby, but the truth is, he's just a baby born almost when he was supposed to be and didn't weigh less than a litre of milk. He's just a normal (ish) baby.

I thought having one baby was hard. But my eldest goes to daycare a few days a week so I could work, and now I'm on leave I see no harm in continuing his routine. Which leaves me with just a baby 3 days a week and wondering what the bloody hell I did with all my spare time when I only had one child, and even more so for when I was childless. Seriously. I get a shit tonne more done in 15 minutes now than I ever have!

If you're one of those mums that manages to get your baby into the same routine as your toddler, and can have them both clean at the same time, and in shorts that match the shirt that has absolutely no boogers or stains on it, please send me a link to your book because you're obviously a fucking genius and a way better person than I am. My house is in a constant state of organised chaos now. To the point that I've made a mental note to make sure I wash my hair on Sundays, because I forget when the last time was that I had long enough in the shower to wash it, and before you know it there's a clump of jam in it and I'm wondering if people notice the smell. #MILF right??

I've given up hope of ever having a fully clean house ever again and the best I can hope for is at least one room to be cleaned a day & the dishwasher on....on a good day. But I'm honestly OK with it. It's how I'm coping and my mental health is right on track, unlike last time. So I figure if my house is a mess, but my mind isn't, it's pretty much a fucking win. Happy mum, happy everyone!

I didn't join a mother's group with my first born, mostly because I was hating on anyone that didn't have it as tough as I did, but also because I didn't know that Queensland Health runs free information sessions for new mums, that, as a result, often end up in a mother's group. I have with my new bub, and I went along with an open mind, hoping the mother's in my group were not anything like the judgemental thundercunts that I met when I joined some online mother's groups. Luckily, they aren't! I see myself becoming good friends with a few of them. I mean, anyone that casually drops fuck or shit into a sentence within 2 hours of meeting me, is pretty much guaranteed a place in my heart. Unless they say they're a vegan Scientologist as well, then all bets are off.

Anyway, meeting these brand new mums, with these brand new tiny people to look after has reminded me of myself when I was them. I forgot how shit scared I was. How unsure I was. How I was so worried that at any moment, someone would see through my smile and jokes and realise I had no fucking idea what I was doing and was barely coping with this huge new responsibility. I saw so much of myself in these mums - the strain behind the tired eyes but smiling mouth; the off the cuff comment about sleep deprivation; the questions that are asked slightly in jest, but not really; the strained laugh at the shit explosion hiding the exasperation that it's the 4th time that morning and you've really had enough; the second guessing everything from whether you should have put socks on to whether the formula is gonna screw up their brain cells.

Now, I am by no means mother of the year, but the 2nd time round I'm not as hard on myself. I don't need to be mother of the year to love my kids and raise them to have good morals. My good enough, is good enough. I am now aware, that having a bad day, does not make me a bad mother. Wanting some time away from my kids doesn't mean I love them any less. There are a million different ways to raise a child, and none of them are necessarily the 'right' or 'wrong' way. I've screwed up so many times it wasn't funny. But my toddler is still alive. He's a happy, relatively healthy (bloody daycare viruses/toast & jam is a balanced meal right?), friendly, social, smart, frustrating kid and he still loves me even though I didn't get it 100% right 100% of the time. I'm not telling myself that I should be doing something or that my baby should be doing something, because the truth is that there IS no should. Kids are really awesome in the fact that they give you a fair amount of leeway in the amount that you can cock up before they start eating chicken hearts & sacrificing goats to the sun god. It's cool to admit that you don't know everything; it doesn't mean Child Services are gonna come knocking.

I wish I knew then what I know now. So I want to tell my new mumma friends this:

Chill.

It won't always be this hard - some days it will be harder, and some easier, but you will survive, and so will your kid. Every day your child will present a new challenge to you and you will have days where you think you can't do it anymore. However you feel, it's ok to feel that way. Whether you think it's silly or not, talk to someone about it and don't dismiss your feelings as stupid or wrong. It's completely fine, and highly suggested to ask for help when you need it. You help no one, especially your child, trying to be a martyr and do everything yourself. What's right for your kid may not be right for mine, or hers, or his. Just do what works for your family and don't apologise for it. Fuck the haters man.

I guess I'm writing this after having such a long time between drinks because seeing new mums like deer in the headlights reminds me that I'm doing ok. I just need reminding sometimes. So hopefully this helps you too. Or a friend of yours. 

Now go and have a glass of wine and put your feet up. You deserve it. You made a human!

Cheers,

Qld Nurse.

My failings as a mother. Well so far anyway.

I saw this post today and it really resonated.

I have a coming up on 17 month old child who many describe as 'strong willed' or 'determined'. I have some other choice words that I use occasionally to describe him, but I won't write those down....

He is at the developmental stage where he has realised that he CAN be disobedient if he wants to, and boy, does he want to sometimes. He's smart enough to be manipulative - so much so, that my husband hasn't quite figured out that he's the 'favourite' parent because my child knows exactly how to push him right in his feels which results in my husband giving my child whatever he wants. Amateur. Other times he is the sweetest, cutest little shit in the whole world and you forget that he just jumped on the dog and pulled the dirty nappies out of his bin after the 10th time you've told him not to play with it.

Anyway, my point is. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. I told some of my workmates yesterday that my epic fear is that I'll be sitting down to watch the local news in 18 or so years and see my child's house surrounded by a SWAT team and wonder if that time I put him in time out to calm down turned him into a serial killer. They looked at me like I had some seriously big kangaroos loose in the ol' top paddock.

Look, I definitely do have a few loose, but the thing is, I just know those fuckers are thinking the same thing. Probably not to the same extreme, but don't all parents at some stage just think 'who let me be in charge of raising a human?!?!'

So I'm coming out, and I'm letting all you mums and dads know that I do in fact, not know what I'm doing as a parent. I have some good days, where I feel like my shit is mostly together, and then I have other days where the PJ's are firmly on all day and ABC kids is on non-stop on the telly. I try to make all my decisions with love. My husband and I have an agreement, that if we're having a problem, I google some shit, we decide on a plan of attack and we try it for a week. If it doesn't work, we go back to the drawing board & try something else. So in order to make all you other parents feel a shit tonne better about yourselves, here are some of the ways I have no doubt guaranteed that as an adult my child will be using some sort of variant of this....

I 'sleep trained' my child and yes there were many tears. One of us was in the room patting his back and 'shh'-ing him while those tears were flowing, but if you believe the 1950's articles about the cortisol levels of neglected children in war-torn countries' orphanages, I have irreparably fucked my son's brain & he will blame me for that when he ends up in jail. No doubt. But hey, he's always in bed by 7pm & I'm getting some sleep now so....

I let him eat crap food sometimes. He was bordering on a food aversion most likely due to his time in the NICU from having a tube down his throat, and his milk protein allergy that took months and lots of screaming to diagnose. We were struggling to get him to eat. Like REALLY struggling. Like having an endoscopy for vomiting/seeing a speech therapist/spending lots of money on rare weird food in an attempt to find something he would eat struggling. He likes hot chips. Some days we let him eat as many hot chips as that tiny little human can fit into his tiny little stomach. This will indubitably lead to a lifetime of obesity and a stroke at 40. My bad son, my bad.

I make him wait sometimes. I love my son and he makes me smile. Sometimes he has to wait to be played with or picked up or even taken out of his cot after a nap because I have my arms full of shopping, or I'm making him something to eat, or I've gotta pee. Sometimes I'm just mummied out and want an extra 5 minutes to finish my game of Candy Crush. He's always safe, but those extra 5 minutes where he's lying in his cot babbling happily to his stuffed koala mean I've probably screwed the attachment thing and the trust do-whats-it and that bit that parenting guru said that time. Oops.

Day care. I send him to daycare while I work. Sometimes, if I'm sick, I send him daycare while I rest at home. I know, I know. There's 2 schools of thought on this - one is that a parent should always be present with their child and sending them to daycare/care of some sort will ensure they take drugs as a teenager and coward punch someone because they weren't hugged enough or something. The second is that seeing both parents contribute financially to the household will help them realise the partnership of marriage and see women as equal. My theory is, that poverty REALLY fucks a kid up. So I'm fucking him up less by ensuring he can do swimming and when he gets older karate, or soccer, or IV drug use. Whatever.

The point is, no matter what you do as a Mum, that Mummy guilt will follow you everywhere you go. There are thousands of theories on how to raise your child, there are thousands of others that contradict those. The only thing that I can guarantee is that no matter what problem you think you're having, there is another Mum/Dad out there somewhere who is going through exactly the same thing. They are just as exasperated as you, and they feel just alone as you because their Facebook feed is full of Pinterest Mum's over achieving kid's colour coordinated lunchbox & outfit and she never has snot on her shirt. It's the toughest job you'll ever do. And if you ever feel like you suck at this parenting gig, feel free to tweet me and I'll tell you about my day when I let my child eat the potato stick that the dog had chewed on, because I figured he'd already stuck it in his mouth and the germs were already there. Yeah I seriously, don't know what the fuck I'm doing.

Cheers,

Qld Nurse.